


Red Skin, Raised

by p1013



Series: The Bum Universe [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Drarry In The Dark, Floo Sex (Harry Potter), Glory Hole, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, POV Harry Potter, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Tattooed Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:42:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28815801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1013/pseuds/p1013
Summary: From this angle, Harry can make out the entire shape of the tattoo. It's a snake, curled lovingly across the man's lower right back, nestled within a bed of peonies. The lines are slightly faded, and the soft colors of the petals are a dim pink. Harry imagines what it would've looked like right after the man was tattooed, everything vibrant with fresh ink and blood-raised skin. His hand perfectly covers the flowers, the snake's eyes peering out from the space between his fingers, and the man shivers beneath Harry's palm.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: The Bum Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2113086
Comments: 87
Kudos: 485





	Red Skin, Raised

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluebutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebutter/gifts).
  * Inspired by [[ART] Round Like an Apple, Soft Like a Bun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28773840) by [Bluebutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebutter/pseuds/Bluebutter). 



Stood in the middle of a distinctly seedy looking street just off Diagon, his invitation crumpled in his hands and Harry convinced the ink is going to start running from his nervous sweat, he doesn't know why he let Ron convince him this was a good idea. 

"Ginny swears by it, mate. Says she’s always had a great time," Ron said before handing Harry the hastily scribbled name of the dating service. "It can't hurt to talk to them. I mean, how long has it been since you went out?"

The memory stings. As much as Harry wishes Ron was wrong, he isn't. It’s been years since Harry and Ginny broke up, and at least six months since Harry last went on a date with someone. And as much as he likes his right hand, his palm is close to growing hair with how often he’s taken care of things on his own. 

Which is why Harry is standing in front of a whitewashed brick building, its paint peeling and its steel door covered in graffiti where it isn't covered in rust, and evening falling around him with absolutely no idea what he's gotten himself into.

Still, he's never been known for his lack of bravery when faced with unknown situations, so after stuffing the invite into his pocket and drying his hands on the front of his trousers, Harry opens the door.

It's warmer inside. The entryway smells like wet metal and Floo powder. Other than a small cubicle off to one side, its glass front almost entirely covered by cardboard except for a thin strip where light shines through onto a small counter, there's little to see in the hallway.

Harry walks to the cubicle and bends down to peer inside. Before he can complete the movement, though, a sharp voice cracks out, startling him into taking a step back.

"Name!" the person barks again. Harry can't tell if the wix is a man or a woman, and as he gains his equilibrium again, he realizes there's some kind of glamour over the person inside.

"Uh, Harry," Harry finally manages. "Harry Potter."

"One moment." There's the quiet sound of papers being flipped through, then a sigh. "Here we are. You're in room five."

"Thank you." Harry takes a step back, then stops when a pointed cough comes from out of the booth. "Uh, is there… Did I forget something?"

"Payment. One Galleon, three Sickles, fourteen Knuts."

"Right, right." Puzzled, Harry fumbles for his coin pouch, then lays the money on the counter. Wrinkled and gnarled, a hand shoots out and scoops them up with avaricious efficiency. A moment later, a key clatters onto the counter where the coins used to be.

"Room five." Then the light shutters, and Harry's left in the dim hallway with the key and even less of an idea of what's going on than when he arrived.

"Weirdest dating service I've ever bloody heard of," he mutters to himself before taking the key and walking down the hallway.

The door to room five is made of dark wood that's scarred with scratches along the keyhole, but there's no sign of a knob. Harry hesitantly puts the key in the hole, and as something inside clicks, a thin mist seeps out around the key. Floating up in snaking tendrils, it circles around Harry's hand, then forms into a knob.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Harry says as he grabs it, "I am going to kill Ron after this."

The door, which looks like it should creak, opens silently on well-oiled hinges. And inside, instead of a small candle-lit table set for two or a low couch with someone lounging across it, there's an empty room and a massive fireplace, its flames green with Floo powder.

And a man's lower half sticking out of it. His _naked_ lower half. 

"What the fuck?" The door slams shut behind Harry, and he whirls around. The key disappears from his hand, and he stares at his empty palm, mouth hanging open.

“First time?” comes out of the Floo, the man’s voice muffled by the flames. 

“I.. What? I mean, yes. But I don't… _What_ is going on?”

“I’m gathering you didn’t read the fine print, then.” The man sighs. “Typical that this would be my luck. Have a lovely evening, then.” He shuffles forward, his lean hips starting to disappear through the Floo.

Before Harry can think about why, he shouts, “Wait!”

The man stills.

“I just… I don’t know what this is supposed to be, but you…”

“And you want me to tell you what’s supposed to happen here?” The man widens his knees and arches his back in a hint of enticement. Harry can make out the heavy outline of the man’s cock, hanging between his parted legs. It's stiff, and as Harry stares, it twitches. "You can't figure it out for yourself?"

"I thought," Harry says, uncertain why he's so comfortable having a conversation with a man's naked arse, "that this was a dating service."

The man laughs. "It's a shame I won't see your face. I have to assume that you're good looking, what with that sparkling intelligence you've got on display."

"Hey!"

"Oh, shush." The man shifts his weight again. "I'm not here for witty repartee, I'm here to get fucked, and if you're not going to oblige, then I'll be on my way."

The man's weight shifts again, and Harry's drawn to the curving muscles of his arse and the hint of a tattoo that flashes as the man moves.

"Wait." Harry takes a step closer, suddenly wanting to know what that inked skin feels like beneath his palms. "If you want…"

The man's hips raise, his stomach drops, and a pale, elegant hand comes out of the Floo to first palm his arse, then pull it back so that Harry can see the man's lubed hole.

"I want," the man says, voice darker, roughened. "Now, what're you waiting for?"

Harry walks forward, his palms sweating now more than ever. His jacket slides from his shoulders to the floor, the soft sound of crumpled cloth the only noise in the room. The man shifts, his knees sliding across the bare floor.

"Do you need…" Harry says, his hand moving towards his wand before he feels the touch of the softening charm covering the floor before the Floo. Swallowing, he reaches first for the buttons of his shirt, then the fastenings of his trousers, then lets his hands fall limp to his sides. "I don't know what to do," he croaks out, though his cock is hard and heavy against his hip.

"Christ, is this your first time with a bloke, too?"

"No." He flexes his hands. "No, I've been with men before."

"Then what's the problem?" The man leans further forward, pushing his arse up higher, his hole glistening and pink, beckoning.

"Do I leave my clothes on?"

A shiver races through the man, and he curses quietly. "If that's what you like."

"But I can take them off?"

"You can do whatever the bloody hell you like, as long as you _touch me_. Fuck."

Harry takes another step forward, and his feet are nearly in the space between the man's spread legs. From this angle, Harry can make out the entire shape of the tattoo. It's a snake, curled lovingly across the man's lower right back, nestled within a bed of peonies. The lines are slightly faded, and the soft colors of the petals are a dim pink. Harry imagines what it would've looked like right after the man was tattooed, everything vibrant with fresh ink and blood-raised skin. His hand perfectly covers the flowers, the snake's eyes peering out from the space between his fingers, and the man shivers beneath Harry's palm.

Trailing his thumb across the pale globe of the man's arse, Harry studies the way his skin pinkens from the touch. It's not even rough, just a gentle pressure, but Harry's thumb leaves a path of flushed skin behind. When it ghosts across the man's crack, teasing at the puckered center of him, the shiver turns into a full-bodied groan.

"You've got big hands," the man pants out, and for a moment, Harry's disappointed that he can't see the smart mouth forming the words. "Does the rest of you live up to the rumors?"

"Maybe." Harry palms himself through his trousers while he continues to fondle the man's arse. "You'll have to wait and see."

The man hisses, "Tease," like it's a curse, and Harry can't help but laugh. He brushes his thumb across the man's arsehole again and again, dragging his touch across it, smearing lube across the pale, pink skin. When the man swears again, Harry stops, his thumb directly on top of the man's hole. The man pushes back against his touch, and this time, Harry's the one who curses when his thumb pops into the warm, wet heat with barely any resistance.

"Ah, fuck." The man's back muscles flex and tighten, and then he pushes himself further onto Harry's hand. "Ah, fuck. Please."

Thumb crooked inside the man, Harry pulls his hand back. His digit catches the rim, and the man groans when Harry's finger slips free.

"Will you fucking touch me already?"

"Not enough hands for that," Harry says as he starts undoing his shirt one-handed, his other hand still rubbing across his cock. As soon as the front gapes open, he shrugs it from his shoulders, his hands parting from his skin for just long enough to get his sleeves clear. Meanwhile, the man's hand is on his own cock, pulling at it with painful-looking strokes. Harry's got his zip halfway down when a drop of precome drips from the man's cock and onto the floor. Cursing, he toes his shoes free, steps out of his trousers and pants, and falls to his knees.

He grips the man's cheeks and pulls them apart, then puts his mouth where his hand had been. The man curses, and the sound of his hand on his cock increases. Harry's too distracted by the salty-skin taste of him, and the way that the man's hole opens greedily for Harry's tongue. He licks and sucks at it, nips at the sensitive rim until spit runs down the crevasse of the man's arse and drips down around his balls and thighs. All Harry can hear is the man's curses and moans, and the heavy pound of his own heart.

Harry finally pulls away, his cheeks wet and his prick aching, and he pulls the man's hips forward. They come only too willingly, and Harry's only too happy to reward that compliance. He slots the head of his prick against the man's hole, breathes out a "Ready," and then pushes forward before he gets an answer.

The man is blisteringly hot around Harry. Slick with lube and spit, he parts around Harry's cock like he was made for it, open and wanting. When Harry pulls back, the man's body grips him tight, as if it doesn't want him to leave. Harry doesn't, so he slams his hips forward again, forcing the man's knees an inch closer to the Floo.

"Oh, fuck, yes," he groans, his arm moving as he pulls on his cock. "Harder. Make me feel it, damn it."

It's been so long since Harry's fucked anyone. He's already close, and the man's words aren't helping. Still, Harry grabs the man's hips and gives him what he wants. Hard, heavy thrusts, ones that pound cries of pleasure-pain from the man bent before him. The man's chest falls forward, and a moment later, the hand that isn't gripping his cock is gripping Harry's thigh.

"Fuck. Yes, I'm so close." The man's grip on Harry's thigh tightens, hard enough to ache. There'll be bruises there later, Harry expects, and the thought shouldn't tip him that much closer to orgasm.

Though it does.

Tracing the shape of the man's tattoo, Harry watches as his cock pounds into the man's body, the way that body arches back into each thrust, the way the man's arse cheeks are stained pink. It's so good, and it's too much, and with a cry, Harry's shaking apart and coming, coming, coming.

He can't stop himself from cursing, can't stop his body from bowing over the man. He pants out half-formed words against the nape of the man's neck, eyes clouded with pleasure.

"Come for me," he gasps, his shaking hand wrapping around the other man's. Together, they work his cock once, twice, and then he's coming, too. Spunk coats Harry's hand, sticky and warm, and he almost doesn't want to let go.

But the man before him lets out a groan that isn't a good one, and Harry peels himself away. When his cock falls free, Harry's come drips out after it, a thin trail of off-white that flows along the curve of the man's arse and leg.

"Shit." The man's legs shake as he pulls them together. "God, that was worth the bloody wait. Fuck."

"Yeah, that was…" Harry takes a deep, shaking breath.

"Precisely." The man shifts again, his knees cracking. "Right. As pleasant as this was, I must be off. I'd say something about seeing you again, but… You know."

And with two short, crawling steps forward, the man disappears into the Floo, leaving Harry, his clothes, and a puddle of cooling come behind.

* * *

"So," Ron says, mouth wide around a smile, "how was it?"

Harry punches him.

A few minutes later in his and Hermione's kitchen, an ice pack pressed to his cheek and his stream of curses finally running dry, Ron asks "What the fuck, mate?"

"It was _brilliant_ ," Harry grits out before he grabs his head in his hands and rests it against the table. "And I don't even know his name."

"You what?"

"Just his arse," Harry groans, the image of that perfect, pert thing still vivid in his mind.

"Mate," Ron asks, "what the fuck are you on about?"

Hermione settles next to her husband, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. "What idiotic thing have you two done this time?" she asks before taking a careful sip.

"I sent him to that place Ginny's always on about," Ron says, and Hermione chokes on her tea, spraying it across her hands and face.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, you did _not,_ " she coughs out. "Not the one—"

"Off of Diagon, yeah. She's always going on about it, and I thought that Harry could use a date."

"Good lord." Hermione pinches the bridge of her nose. "She's going to break something laughing when I tell her. Harry, do you want to… talk about… it?"

"Not really," he mumbles into his hands. "But I don't know his _name_ , Hermione. And it was… He was…"

"Okay, okay." She pats the back of his head concilatorially. "I guess… I'll see if Ginny can tell us anything else about that… place."

"I am completely lost," Ron says, but his voice is pitched with friendly concern, "but whatever you need, mate, you've got it. We'll help you find this… nameless arse, I guess."

"Thanks," Harry tells the tabletop, a hysterical laugh trapped somewhere in his chest. "You're the best."

**Author's Note:**

> NGL, I was _incredibly_ inspired by [Bluebutter's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebutter/pseuds/Bluebutter) work. So, enjoy this bit of story to go with the gorgeous art.
> 
> And for those of you wondering, yes, I will be continuing this as a series. Eyes peeled for the second part. 👀😘


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